


Garment Grandeur

by jencsi



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi
Summary: They notice everything about each other.
Relationships: Julie "Finn" Finlay/Nick Stokes
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Garment Grandeur

“So based on the trajectory of the bullet, it traveled through the hallway before striking the victim” she explains, swiping her finger across the digital tablet they are using to recreate the crime scene. 

“So the shooter was stationed outside and aiming inside the house” Nick concludes from their notes and the victims position. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, the wheels spinning in their heads of where to pursue their next lead and which piece of evidence to explore. 

She leaned against the brightly lit layout room table, arranging the photos of the scene again, hoping to find some clue they missed. He paused in his own deductions of their scene to watch her. She was immersed in the work, hip pushed in against the table's edge. He liked the way her shirt was tucked in, belt wrapped around her waist. His eyes traveled up to her shirt collar where the first three buttons were undone. 

Her professional dress was a mere cover for the actual beauty she radiates. The job kept them so tightly wound and restricted. But at home, in the security of his place or hers, they could loosen up, shedding the layers of clothes that kept them stifled. He recalled the different nights they had stumbled through the door in the darkness, not even bothering to turn on any lights, navigating their way upstairs, lips pressed together, hands and fingers fumbling with those buttons, wanting nothing more than to shed those layers and be close, natural, true. 

He was always careful. He didn’t want to seem pushy when they first started being together. As eager as they were to get home and be together, they also enjoyed taking their time. He stopped just outside the hallway of his room to brush her hair aside and find that spot on her neck that she loved to have kissed and linger there. A single finger tugged at the collar of her shirt, the buttons she kept undone made it easier for him to kiss her there and he knew she had done that on purpose, torturing him all shift with that fashion choice, anxious to be home and to have these tender moments. 

His hands found her hips, thumbs pressing into the tender spot, moving in a repetitive circular motion, driving her crazy. It was a relief to be rid of the tight constricting leather belt and instead having his soft hands digging into her muscles. His fingers wandered to the hem of her shirt, untucking it slowly, letting the fabric graze against her skin. She shivered, her breath catching in her chest when his fingers fumbled blindly for the buttons, undoing each one tenderly, going slow on purpose. She melted at his touch, feeling her knees go weak, a cliche feeling, but a beautiful one. She was softer than everyone gave her credit for. 

His hands wandered to her sides, pressing in as he lifted her into his arms. He didn’t have far to carry her, laying her gently on the bed, the tender way he cared for her making her stomach tingle and her heart beat faster. His lips found her neck again, trailing down her skin with kisses, that single finger brushing against her skin as he moved the collar of her shirt aside making her shiver. The night was theirs. 

In the darkness, breathless under the covers, they rested. Her hand lay across his chest, fingers playing with the buttons of his shirt he wore loosely, having thrown it on in haste after their rendezvous. She slipped into one of his older button up shirts, one that had grown too small for him but was perfect for her. They were lazy, melting into the bed and each other. He kept his hand on her hip, caressing the tender spot, a gesture she adored. She traced her finger over the stitching on his shirt, soaking up every detail of him, loving how he wore those shirts on purpose with the buttons half undone at work to torture her during their shifts together, agononizingly awaiting the moment they could be home and together this way. His hand moved from her hip, slipping back under her shirt, palm resting on her stomach, fingers grazing her skin, lazy, delicate, gentle. She giggled, the sweetest sound in the world to him, squirming, ticklish, until she turned over, moving the collar of his shirt aside and burying her face in his neck, nuzzling, letting her hair tickle him on purpose, sweet revenge. They were a beautiful mess of love, of soft, sweet, tender care. They drove each other crazy with affections, those playful teases at work, simple things like shirt buttons driving them both absolutely wild for each other. What a way to be.


End file.
